Barely Aware
by Allika
Summary: The Ravenclaws are debating, the Hufflepuffs are blushing, the Slytherins are considering, and the Gryffindors are betting. Something strange is happening during Harry's 7th year. OneShot HD.


Just a short little fic to clear away the rabid plot bunnies, and to give you beautiful people something to read while you imagine the slow authoress dying very slowly. Chap. 8 is on the way of AoB. Please don't hurt me!

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I would be taking forever to write my stories, and I would be basking in the wonderful reviews of my readers

_**Barely Aware**_

It was two weeks into Harry Potter's seventh year when he caught on to the fact that everyone seemed to be...watching him. He had been oblivious before, because he was still adjusting his mind to the fact that he had given himself the best birthday present ever: Voldemort, surrounded by the green light of Avada Kedavra, dead, the prophecy fufilled. Harry was very wrapped up in his mind, trying to figure out what he wanted to _do_ now that he had completed his life's work. He had finally decided one week and six days into the new school year that he wanted to move on to Merlin's Advanced Wizardry University and major in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and then find a teaching job, preferably at Hogwarts. This conclusion had been reached painstakingly, because both of his best friends were moving on to the Ministry, Ron for field work in the Aurors, and Hermione for some 'research' in the Department of Mysteries, and it had taken Harry awhile to convince himself that he couldn't always be with his best friends, because he was really rather quite tired of chasing after dark wizards. Harry's obliviousness also could be contributed to the fact that he was rather emotionally dense, not to mention naive. So when he raised his head on the morning of the14th of September after a decisive nod to himself, he was taken aback to find practically the entire Great Hall looking at him. He slowly looked around the room. Ravenclaw was having a friendly debate inbetween glances at the Boy Who Lived. The Hufflepuffs were either blushing and gazing at him furtively or looking pleased-as-punch with knowing nods in his direction. Slytherin's looks were cooly assessing. Every once in awhile, one of the serpents would give a small nod in Harry's direction and return to their breakfast. And Gryffindor...a few were looking at him increduously, while most were whispering in the ear of the person next to them, who in turn whispered in the ear of the person next to them, with the chain ending at the chair of Seamus Finnigan, who would nod and scribble something down every time someone would whisper at him. Harry's brow furrowed, as he wondered confusedly what the hell was going on. He looked across the table at his two friends questioningly.

"Hermione, I know I'm right. We'll strike it rich. Come _on_," Ron was pleading. Hermioen had a disapproving scowl on her face.

"Ron, while Harry might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, he is not completely moronic. Give him some credit. One week. Take it or leave it," she said stubbornly, crossing her arms. Ron sighed heavily, but turned to Neville and whispered in his ear, just loud enough that Harry could hear.

"20 galleons for the 21st of this month," he said. Neville gaped at him.

"Only a week? Are you sure, Ron? 20 galleons is a lot of money, and Harry..."

Ron looked around furtively, "Hermione insists Harry isn't an idiot, but I doubt it. Make it ten days."

Neville gave an understanding nod of his head, and turned to whisper in Parvati's ear. Harry turned to look at his closest female friend, who had her Head Girl badge pinned onto the front of her robes, and was stroking it like a cat.

"Hey, 'Mione. What's going on?" Harry asked quietly. Everybody froze. Forks stopped in midair, conversations broke off abruptly, and all heads swung toward the far end of Gryffindor table. Hermione's eyes were cooly assessing as she regarded him over the rim of her tea cup.

"Whatever do you mean, Harry?" Her voice was calm, a small ounce of feigned confusion inserted within. Harry blushed slightly.

"I dunno. Just...doesn't everyone appear to be acting..._strangely_ to you?" he asked quietly, casting paranoid glances around the room. She tilted her head to the side like a puupy that had just heard a strange noise. Her eyes were wide and innocent as a doe's.

"Not at all." Harry sighed and shrugged.

"Ok." Suddenly, the intangible 'play' button was pushed. Forks were inserted into mouths, conversations resumed as if they had never stopped, and heads returned to their former positions, though eyes stayed in the same place.

Harry sighed again, and Dean Thomas patted him on the shoulder consolingly.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The next day at breakfast, a very strange phenomenon occurred that left Harry feeling off balance, as if the world had suddenlt tilted, and everyone had adjusted but him, which, in a way, it had. Draco Malfoy, Prince of Slytherin, strutted over to the Gryffindor table, poured himself a cup of coffee, and reclined next to Harry on the bench. Harry barely glanced at the blonde at first, slightly out of it from being woken in the middle of the night by a nightmare that consisted on ant-size Harry under a magnifying glass. After all of three seconds though, he put down his porridge spoon, and turned slowly to look at his new worst enemy, (since Voldemort, Peter Pettigrew, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Lucius Malfoy were all dead) sitting calmly next to Harry as if he belonged there. His brain, being three quarters shut down, was still processing the fact that the Slytherin wasn't a hallucination, when Hermione spoke.

"Hey, Draco. Sleep well?" she inquired politely, if not warmly, as is it wasn't strange that she was sitting across from the boy who had nearly killed one of her best friends in sixth year.

"Yes, I suppose. And you, Hermione?" Draco replied casually, as if had exchanged these pleasantries (and refrained from addressing the girl as 'Mudblood') hundreds of times

"All right." Malfoy gave a 'hmm' of acknowledgement, before taking a sip of his coffee, and turning his eyes to Harry, whose mouth was still agape. The Slytherin smiled, which took Harry quite aback, because, all though Malfoy sneered, smirked, or gave an evil chuckle on occasion, he never _smiled_. And even stranger, Malfoy reached over, brought his suprisingly warm fingers under Harry's chin, and slowly closed his mouth.

"Good morning...Harry," he said quietly, before standing and heading back over to the Slytherin table. Harry looked after him, shaking his head slightly. Hermione gave a very Slytherin grin when Harry mumbled quietly.

"Shoulda stayed in bed today."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

After The Incident in the Great Hall, Harry found himself wondering if he had somehow slipped into an alternate universe where Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy exchanged morning pleasantries, Draco Malfoy touched Harry Potter in a non-violent way, and Harry Potter checked out Draco Malfoy as the latter concentrated on brewing his mild truth draught in Potions, his white teeth pulling fetchingly on his lower lip. Two days passed, and Harry's brow was perpetually furrowed, his eyes darting around. Both days, Malfoy came over for breakfast, discussing Transfiguration with Hermione (Yes, McGonnagal will take off points if the dog has stripes) and Quidditch with Ron (The Cannons don't have an chance against the Hawks) and smiling warmly at Harry when the Boy Who Lived stared at him as if he had grown a second, then a third head. Finally, Harry couldn't take it any more. That evening, he cornered Hermione.

"Why is Malfoy eating breakfast with us, and calling us by our names, and why are you being polite, and _what _is Seamus taking bets for?" Hermione smiled pityingly at him and patted his cheek.

"He _did _take the Cruciatus for you, Harry, and kill his aunt for you, and spy for you, and he sat by your bedside day and night after you killed Voldemort and were unconscious. In fact..." Hermione trailed off and gave Harry a disapproving glare, "He's done a hell of a lot for you, and you've yet to thank him." She walked off.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The next morning, when Draco turned to Harry to wish him a good morning, Harry opened his mouth first, his eyes on his hands twisting in his lap.

"Mal-Draco. I..." he trailed off, looking briefly up to see those silver eyes regarding him patiently, amusement and...something else, very apparent.

"Thanks," he mumbled, standing and quickly leaving the room.

"All bets final!" Seamus announced loudly. Draco smiled.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

That evening, Harry sat in his old thinking spot, his mind full of thoughts. When he had woken four days after he had fufilled the prophecy, he had been promptly surrounded by celebrants such as a sobbing Hermione and a beaming Ron, but it had been Malfoy who had handed him his glasses, before leaving without a word. Harry had finally extricated himself from the Hospital Wing, and shut himself in an empty classroom and cried, because he felt so lost. What was his purpose, now that Voldemort was gone? Where did he fit, where did he go, what did he do, who did he do it with? He had pulled away from his friends, spending hours in the top of the highest Quidditch stands, simply trying to figure out who Harry was, now that the Boy Who Lived was no longer needed. And he had slowly figured it out...mostly, because he still didn't know why he felt a strange feeling in his stomach when he thought of Draco Malfoy as his worst enemy, and a cold feeling when the Slytherin wouldn't meet his eyes. And now, sitting under the stars, the wind ruffling his already hopeless hair, Harry realized, and he felt like crying, because _surely_ the universe would never be that kind. Surely he ought to be satisfied with juts being alive, instead of longing for something he couldn't have. Harry heard footsteps, and turned to see white blonde hair shining in the moonlight. Well...it seemed Fate was feeling guilty.

"Hello, Harry," Draco said with another one of those unfamiliar warm smiles, sitting next to the Gryffindor and turning his face up to the night sky.

"Hey," Harry whispered, staring at his hands in his lap and wondering when he had acquired the habit of wringing his hands. After long moments of silence, Draco spoke softly, hesitantly.

"You know, I hated you for the longest time, because you refused to be my friend, and _no one_ refuses a Malfoy. Then I hated you more and more, because you were so good and brave and only an idiot couldn't see that Voldemort didn't have a chance against you. And I was an idiot. I, subcosciously of course, submitted myself to the losing side, because I didn't have a choice. And then, when my father was arrested, I absolutely loathed you, because I realized that now, anything I do from now on I can't blame on familial responsibilty or my upbringing. If I'm on the losing side, it will be all my fault. I owled Dumbledore the next day, and took the Mark a week later. I watched you all year, hating you less and less because who could hate someone like you? I was so afraid that night you were captured, because I knew that if you died it would be my fault for not finding out soon enough, and then I almost got you killed when I didn't judge the time right. I almost got both of us killed, and we would have been, you know, if Snape hadn't blown his cover. And I hated myself, because you almost died because I let my emotions take over my thoughts, something that has never happened to me before. I knew I loved you then." Harry drew in a sharp breath and looked at the other boy out of the corner of his eye. The Slytherin was looking at him in entreaty, his eyes eloquently begging for Harry to give in, to stop fighting being happy, because he didn't know how. Then Harry leaned over and brushed his lips lightly against Draco's, before looking away and blushing. Draco chuckled, and Harry simply couldn't resist the challenge, and kissed the blonde again. It was gentle, and then Draco ran his tongue along Harry's lower lip. Harry heard a small sound emerge from his throat as he parted his lips, and their tongues met hesitantly for a brief moment before Draco began to map Harry's mouth as he circled the Gryffindor's waist with his arms, and Harry gripped his shoulders, and they held onto each other tightly in the slowly realigning, but still chaotic night, while the stars seemed to whirl overhead, and the leaves danced with the wind in celebration. Fate smiled that night.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

In Gryffindor Tower, a long piece of parchment let out a whirring noise, and the lights in the seventh year boys' dormitory suddenly ignited. Seamus Finnigan pulled the list of wagers out of his trunk.

"Damn," he muttered irritably. He had lost 30 galleons, all because Harry simply couldn't wait until Easter to snog his beloved enemy. A loud whoop came from Neville's bedcurtains, and the slightly pudgy boy emerged, grinning gleefully. He was going to be swimming in galleons in no time. He'd known Harry wasn't an idiot, but it was realyy rather simple to convince everyone else of that fact. Gryffindors were so wonderfully easy to manipulate. Neville gave a blissful sigh as Seamus shot him a death glare.

'I should have listened when the Sorting Hat said I'd make a good Slytherin.'

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Yes, yes, I _know_. It was stupid, and Harry _is_ an idiot, and Neville _would not_ make a good Slytherin, but I just couldn't resist. Be gentle with me please, because bad reviews are so very traumatizing they can extend my writer's block for a looong time.


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